“Yes; let us see, you address a meeting down at Turner’s Hall in this quarter on Saturday. I will be in the audience, and we will beard the captain in company. Midnight, Kensington Gardens, by the pond to the left as you enter from the Queen’s Road—that is the rendezvous. Come, are you ready? I think I may tell you that you will run no risks, while at any rate you will see something strange beyond compare.”
“YOU CANNOT GUESS ITS USE?”
I hesitated, the mystery was deepening, and to confront and “have it out” with the celebrated, if hateful, anarchist, would be interesting. And these queer hints too?
“Yes, I’m your man; but we must have no companions—for obvious reasons.”
Burnett nodded. Shortly afterwards the obnoxious German took his departure and left us to ourselves. I am not sure that he quite trusted my intentions, for the dread of the police spy was ever present with him.
We two talked on till midnight. On rising to go I made a final effort to “squeeze” the anarchist.
“Come, John, it’s no use playing the mystery man any longer. I shall know everything by Saturday night, or rather Sunday morning. You trust me with your other secrets, trust me with this; at any rate, a three days’ interval can’t make much difference.”
Burnett thought a moment, stepped to his shelves, and took down a work of somewhat antique binding. It was from the pen of a nineteenth-century savant of high repute in his day.[[1]] Slowly, and without comment, he read me the following passage:—“Yet there is a real impediment in the way of man navigating the air, and that is the excessive weight of the only great mechanical moving powers hitherto placed at his disposal. When science shall have discovered some moving power greatly lighter than any we yet know, in all probability the problem will be solved.”
[1]. Duke of Argyll, Reign of Law.